


A Hairy Situation

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, HSWC 2014, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of character death (canon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meenah doesn't want to cut her hair, but it keeps inhibiting her ability to fight and jack up those levels. Luckily, the ever-fashionable Porrim comes to the rescue with a solution.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Fill for the HSWC Bonus Round 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hairy Situation

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't resist the title pun (i'm so sorry)
> 
> anyway, yeah. i'm thinking that if meenah's hair is anything like the condesce's, it's a damn mess, so porrim helps her out
> 
> fill for this prompt: http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/18819.html?thread=3667843#cmt3667843

It was an unspoken tradition that the tyrian-blooded empresses of Beforus never cut their hair. They let it grow and grow until the day they die. It was a symbol of their longevity and the power they held as rulers. Although you've always despised the idea of being forced to carry the responsibility of taking care of the wants and needs of an entire empire, you weren't opposed to one day having a sea of hair capable of drowning your enemies. 

Rebellious from the start, you would commit acts of insubordination to express your disdain for your assigned duty: vandalizing parts of the palace, getting into fights, and stealing and hoarding valuables, all while wearing clothes and donning piercings that you knew your caretakers wouldn't approve of. As far as you were concerned, they could all go choke on a sea cucumber. You were Meenah Peixes, the baddest and most boss-ass beach on the whole damn planet, and anyone who told you different was just asking for a fork to the gut.

You still are, but things have changed, thanks to this game you're playing. You are no longer the heiress to a mere empire; you're practically a goddess, and the heiress to a new universe. The only challenge is actually creating said universe first, and getting your plebeian lackeys to fall to their knees before you. It wouldn't be quite so difficult to accomplish this if your wildly tangled mane of hair didn't keep getting in the way of your fighting, forcing you to endure hours of grinding through levels in order to properly hone your skills in battle. You were never challenged enough on Beforus to realize that casually picking fights every so often wasn't sufficient to make you a real fighter. In fact, you don't think any of the other players were totally prepared for what you got yourselves into with this damn game.

You most certainly weren't prepared for Damara Megido to flip her shit. 

After taking your abuse countless times, coupled with the loss of her matesprit to another and the heartbreak that came with it, she snapped. You weren't expecting a bloody, all-out brawl. It turned into a fight to the death, and you lost. Damara fought dirty, fueled by hatred and rage, and by the time you woke up on your quest cocoon she'd disappeared without a trace. No one knew where she'd gone, and frankly, you didn't care. That was one blow to your pride you were never going to live down.

It hasn't been long since then, and you're still trying to figure out how your god tier powers work. You've found that you can change your boring hooded pajamas to different ensembles, which you take full advantage of, and you can also float around with your kickass new pair of wings. Unfortunately, you end up hiding them most of the time, as your hair once again gets in the way. You have yet to discover any other benefits of your immortal status. You're sure that Aranea would know, but you're reluctant to ask her, since she'd just go on some hour-long spiel about it and send you to snoozeville.

You sigh as you stand in front of a full-body mirror in your block-- one of the many that you own, and that Aranea yelled at you for wasting so much grist alchemizing. It isn't your fault that you're just so damn good-looking that sometimes you need to stop and admire yourself for a while. You're currently cycling through your outfits, trying to figure out which one you like best. Of course, you're hot no matter what you wear, but for some reason you just can't settle on one. 

You're startled out of your self-absorbed reverie when you hear a voice behind you. "That one looks nice."

You don't turn from the mirror, stopping what you were doing to glare at the reflection that has appeared behind yours. "Water you doin' here, Maryam?"

Unfazed by your irritation, Porrim steps over to your side, looking you up and down. "Kanny sent me to find you. He's trying to gather everyone in one place for another meeting to discuss strategies and such." Her careful scrutiny continues and she adds, "Although, now that I think about it... you really need to do something with that wild hair of yours. It might end up becoming a hindrance."

You shake your head stubbornly, long dark locks swishing and tickling your ankles with the movement. " _Shell_ no, Por. No way am I lettin' you cut this, do you have any idea how coddamn long it took to grow?"

A smirk tugs at the corners of her jade-painted lips. "I never said anything about cutting it. Just... fixing it so that it's more manageable, and out of the way."

You tilt your head to stare at her, both suspicious and curious. "And how'd you figure you could do that?"

Then you catch a glint of excitement in her eyes, and immediately regret asking. _Oh, no._

She promptly invades your personal space bubble, coming up beside you and running her fingers through your tangled hair. "Hm... too thick to put into a hoofbeast-tail, and there's so much of it..." She murmurs thoughtfully, more to herself than to you. When she uncaptchalogues a hairbrush from her sylladex, you decide to draw the line. 

"Whoa, beach. Clam the fuck down, I never asked for you to-" 

She cuts you off, clicking her pierced tongue at you. "Think nothing of it, dear. It's pretty obvious that you need my help, and I'm glad to offer it. At least let me get all the knots out!" Without allowing any more room for protest, she takes a handful of your hair and begins tugging the brush through it rather roughly. 

Sharp tingles of pain shoot through your scalp as Porrim yanks the brush through the coarse tangles of hair, muttering, "Gracious, do you _ever_ brush your hair?" 

Your cheeks have started to flush indignantly, and you scowl at her. "Ain't no one got time for that, I've been too busy teachin' all these monsters who's bass."

"And getting your ass kicked because it gets in the way, right?"

You curl your lip angrily, and she shakes her head at you, cutting off your disgruntled reply. "I'm just saying that it's not _practical_ , Meenah. You would have so much more mobility if you took better care of it." Her statement is punctuated by another harsh yank of the brush.

" _Ow!_ Holy carp, girl, are you try'na rip my hair outta my head?" You holler, trying to squirm away from her. 

She pulls you back, undeterred by your reluctance to comply. "We both know that's not my intent here, darling. I'm trying to rip the tangles out, is all." 

You groan and cross your arms. "Clammit, no wonder Vantas is shoalways flippin' the fuck out whenever you touch 'im." 

She rolls her eyes. "It's because he has a tendency to overreact, and hates to accept help. Kind of like you are right now," she replies pointedly.

Sulking childishly, you respond, "I didn't ask for your kelp!"

"But you'll thank me later for it," she tells you with a sly smile. "With any luck, after this you'll never need my help maintaining that wingbeast's nest you call hair again."

You grumble a few unflattering things under your breath, though you can't help but be interested to see what she's come up with. It takes her a good while to brush through all of your hair, smoothing it out when she's done with a satisfied expression. 

"All right, now I want you to actually pay attention here," she instructs with a professional air. She uses the brush to part your hair down the center of your head, then captchalogues it and takes half of your hair in her hand. "I'm going to show you how to make braids. They're simple, they look nice, and they won't get in the way during a fight. Plus, they'll give your hair pretty waves if you leave them in for a while."

"But my hair's already got kickin' waves," you scoff.

"No, seriously. Just trust me on this one," she assures you, separating the half of your hair she's holding into three individual strands. She starts a thick braid a few inches above the nape of your neck, then travels downward, weaving with practiced ease. You watch her with wide eyes, your mouth hanging open slightly at the speed with which she's able to work. Within minutes you have a neat braid running down to your calf, showing off more of your clothing and your wicked earfin studs. 

She takes a step back to admire her work, putting her hands on her hips. "Well? What do you think?"

You pause, running a hand over the braid. "I think... you should do the other side, too." When you see her smile widen, you hurriedly add, "And you betta not get all smug aboat this, 'cause I still don't want you pickin' out my clothes for me. I just gotta make sure I know how to do this right, so that everyone can sea my sweet-ass wings. Gonna soak up that technique like a sponge."

"Fair enough," she hums, clearly amused as she goes around to your other side and starts the next braid. "I hope you know how much of my time I'm sacrificing in order to do this for you-- not just fixing your hair, but also having at least an hour monopolized later listening to Kanny whine about how I kept him waiting."

You raise an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you reely think anyone's gonna show up to listen to him blubber on about nofin?" 

Her features twist into a grimace. "... Good point." Finally tying off the braid at the end, she stands up again and brushes off her dress, giving you another once-over. "In that case, how about I help you pick out a new outfit, too?"

"... Let's not get too far in over our heads here, Por."

She shrugs. "If you insist. I suppose you can just go back to... whatever you were doing, then." Waving nonchalantly towards the mirror, she turns and begins to saunter out of the block.

You watch her leave, chewing absently at the inside of your lip. "Yo, Porrim."

"Hm?" She stops in the doorway, turning to you with an eyebrow raised. 

"Uh... Thanks. Y'know, compared to all these other dipshits, you actually ain't half bad." You rub awkwardly at the back of your neck, unaccustomed to showing gratitude for anything.

She laughs, "That's not saying much, but I appreciate the sentiment." Then she winks before stepping out. Damn, that was a sick burn.

After she's gone, you conjure your glittering fuchsia wings and give them an experimental flap, uncaptchaloguing your double-sided trident and twirling it in your hand. You'll probably never admit it again out loud, but you like this look better.


End file.
